Fairest Of Them All
by Princess Sammi
Summary: Amelia Gothel's life had not begun with beauty, but she had sworn long ago that it would end with it.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Tangled or anything associated with it.**

 **A/N: This was started back in 2014 - after I saw the film for the first time on the Good Friday weekend. It got lost under a pile of other fanfiction and general life. I came across it the other day and thought I would finish and then upload it.**

 **I have always had a fascination with (Disney) villains and think that Mother Gothel is very underrated as they go. Also, she can leave a scene in a way that gives the Phantom Of the Opera a run for his money. ;)**

* * *

 **Fairest Of Them All**

Six year old Amelia Gothel clambered onto the chair that usually sat neatly under her mother's dressing table.

She loved her mother's dressing table.

It was like an Aladdin's cave, full of beautiful — and sometimes hidden — treasures. She never knew what she might find, but she always enjoyed finding out. Bottle upon bottle of varying shapes and sizes were lined up along its surface, each one containing a different colour of liquid. Her mother said they were what helped her to stay _'young'_ and _'beautiful',_ but she still thought her mother was just as beautiful without them.

Unlike her.

She scowled as she looked in the mirror.

While her mother's hair was luscious and thick, falling in long loose curls, like an inky waterfall running down her back, hers was wasp thin and just seemed to hang there; while her mother could light up a room from the second she walked in, no one even noticed whether she was there or not, and while her mother always looked pristine, without a wrinkle in her dress or a hair out of place, she never looked presentable. No matter how careful she was, she always seemed to end up a complete mess.

Her tiny fingers gently traced the elegant pattern of carvings on the lid of the ornate jewellery box that sat atop the table before she slowly opened it. She knew she would get into trouble if she was caught — she wasn't supposed to touch her mother's things without permission, and sometimes not even then, but she couldn't help herself.

A string of pearls were her favourite piece.

Classic. Simple. Elegant.

Her mother rarely wore them and she had pleaded with her to have them for playing with, but she had always been refused. She picked them up and held them to her neck, her eyes gleaming at their beauty. She already felt so much more sophisticated. Like a real lady; like her mother.

Her eyes fell on the ruby red lipstick her mother always wore. It made her look so pretty. Amelia wanted to be just like her when she was older. She removed the lid from the lipstick and was about to apply it to her young lips when a screech caused her to jump, dropping the lipstick in her fright.

"AMELIA GOTHEL! WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"

"Nothing, Mummy. I wa-"

"YOU KNOW FINE WELL YOU AREN'T ALLOWED IN HERE! NOW, GO AND PLAY!"

"I just wanted to be pretty like you, Mummy." The words were practically whispered, the tone so innocent it would have broken a heart of stone.

Her mother sighed, snatching the box up off the table as she ushered her daughter out of the room. "Oh, Petal," she said, looking at her daughter's reflection in the mirror, without an ounce of emotion in her voice, "Beauty isn't something you'll ever have to worry about."

* * *

Her stumbling upon it had been one of pure accident.

One which proved to be a fortuitous piece of luck.

One which would change her fortunes.

She had been out in the forest one day when she had come across a flower. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, but there was something that drew her to it; she couldn't explain it. It was a small golden-yellow flower that sat in the middle of the forest, standing out against the greenery of the trees. It reminded her of the sun.

She could feel it calling out to her, and from somewhere a soft chant began to whisper itself in her ears, like a gentle wind blowing about the ether.

For a moment there was nothing, then the flower began to emit a gentle glow.

She held out her hand in surprise, watching on in pure shock as her previously ageing stubby fingers extended into long, willowy digits, and barely believing it as wrinkle after wrinkle disappeared, replaced with skin that was akin to a newborn. Tentatively, she brought a hand up to her face, again feeling nothing but a youthful complexion.

She made her way over to the stream, almost doing a double take as she looked into the waters seeing the dark, curly, thick hair, and a young woman gazing back at her. She looked behind her, but there was no one there, and then she realised that this ... reflection ... _this woman_ ... was her.

Finally, she was young again.

Finally, she was beautiful.

Finally, she was worthy of her mother's pearls.

* * *

She didn't understand.

She was young, she was beautiful, so why didn't he want her?

After _everything_ ... why had he chosen differently? Why was she always second best? Why was she never good enough? What did this other woman have that she didn't? Snapping the compact open, she surveyed her reflection.

 _Unless_ ... she wasn't beautiful enough?

Before she knew it she was back standing before her flower, her lifeline, her saviour. But while the last time the chant had come to her in a gentle whisper, this time there was something else ... something sinister lurking underneath. Her eyes danced with an obsessive madness as she spoke the chant over and over again, willing for the power to work.

It was done.

* * *

She hid behind the old oak tree, only able to watch on as they _stole_ her flower.

For centuries she had kept it hidden, carefully measuring out how much time each visit would give her, and now it was gone. Just as easily as one could click their fingers. She saw one of the castle's army men hold it up triumphantly as he proclaimed that they could now save the sickly queen.

What about her though?

What would save her now?

* * *

She loomed over the crib like the shadow of death, her dark eyes greedily drinking in the tiny being whom was lying before her.

It was obvious to all that the child's beauty was only going to increase with the passing of time. A pang stabbed at her heart as she found herself wondering what her daughter would have looked like had she lived -

 _No._

She didn't have time to get sentimental; she couldn't afford to get sentimental. She had a job to do.

The light bounced off the blade she was holding, making it glisten under the moon.

One cut. Just one. Just enough to make her beauty last a little longer and then she would stop.

Easy.

Taking a deep breath, ignoring the slight tremor in her hand, she reached over into the crib and cut off a lock of the golden tresses.

Perfect.

Almost instantly though, its shine dulled, the previously golden sunshine turning to a dirty brown in her hand. Her eyes widened.

What trickery was this?

She tried another, but it only suffered from the same fate.

She didn't understand.

A cruel laugh echoed in her mind. A familiar voice. A familiar laugh.

"Oh, Petal," her mother's voice taunts, "Some women just weren't meant for beauty."

The laugh gets louder and louder, and she _needs_ to make it stop ...

Before she knows it, she's back in her little cottage.

Another laugh grabs her attention.

Only this one is not cruel like her mother's. It is softer and innocent.

It is the laugh of a baby.

It is the laugh of the Princess she has just stolen from the Royal Palace.

* * *

No, Amelia Gothel's life had not begun with beauty, but she had sworn long ago that it would end with it.


End file.
